Don't Lose Your Grip
by xxDodo
Summary: "A tiger, a sasquatch, and a druggie meet up in a cornfield. Shit, it sounded like a beginning to a bad joke." - Waking up disoriented was just the start in a voluntary kidnapping, not to mention the tiger-chasing, cornfield-cursing, ass-kicking day. And Sam had just wanted his shoes. - Co-authored with agent iz hyper.
1. Prey in the Night

**Don't Lose Your Grip**

**I. Prey in the Night**

Sam didn't usually swear. Or, well, not as profusely as his brother tended to. But in his defense, the occasion totally called for it.

He was lost. He was cold. His head was killing him. He had no way of communication. And you want to what the icing on top of the cake was?

He didn't have his _shoes_.

That's right. Shoes, out of all things

Oh, and there was also the fact that he couldn't remember how he'd gotten- wherever the hell he was, or what gave him that lovely bump at the back of his head, or even _what the heck happened to his shoes_. He didn't know whether he should be concerned about the fact that his brief memory loss was _just _from a concussion and nothing else and that didn't worry him as much as the other things did. But in his life, concussions were average things – almost like scraped knees for kids.

So, in short – yes, he did believe that this situation warranted a good deal of cussing.

After venting out his frustration in the form of various, fancy, vulgar words for a good couple of minutes (and he really should remember to thank Dean for even knowing half of them), Sam focused on the one problem he _could _do something about.

Finding out where he was.

The specifics were easy enough – Steven's Reserve, a nice round park of green grass and clumps of trees surrounding an empty playground, on the corner of streets Fenwick and Houston, the signs told him.

Great. That was really helpful.

Sam shivered and zipped up his jacket, thrusting his hands into the pockets. At least it wasn't his jacket that was gone, because he really didn't need to catch pneumonia on top of everything else – though the way things were going, with the biting cold wind and his thin socks, he wouldn't be surprised if he got frostbite instead.

With a wince, he started onwards to the almost-empty street, searching his hazy mind for a state name, a city. Last thing he remembered… well, the last thing he was actually _conscious_ of was trudging out of the motel room in a fit of frustration at his brother (and, no, he did not care what Dean insisted afterwards; he had not _stomped _out of there like a kid having a temper tantrum) – but he remembered things after that. Not much, and definitely nothing helpful. Pain in his head, a bright light, numbing cold, and then… he woke up in that park, huddled up on the grass.

Since the thing that had woken him up was his pounding head, and the first thing he'd realized once he'd forced his eyes open was that he was alone, Sam's first instinct was to find Dean. A quick sweep of the park showed a big fat load of _no big brother_ so he'd dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone, fingers automatically pressing the buttons to unlock it and finding the first speed-dial number without him needing to look. It was halfway to his ear before he realized that one, there was no sound and two, the screen was still black.

And so, Sam had come to the horrible realization that not only was he stuck out here alone, but his phone's _battery _had _died_. Out of all the things that could have happened…

It would have been funny, really, if he'd been in the mood. Memory blank, no shoes, and dead phone, with absolutely _no idea _to what was going on here… oh yeah, it was just hilarious. He could definitely see Dean splitting his side laughing over his situation.

You know, when he found him. Somehow.

But anyway. Back to the problem at hand. When they'd stopped at the motel, they were just on the outskirts of Iowa, heading over to Bobby in South Dakota. And that… didn't really help either, but at least he had a sense of where he _should _be. Right, now he just had to find someone to tell him where exactly he _was _and then… well, go find Dean, he guessed.

With a weary sigh, Sam sauntered on down the street to where it led off to what he figured was the busier part of town, small shops lining the footpath on either side of the two-lane slightly-busy road. It was early morning, the clouded sky making it seem darker than it would have been otherwise, and Sam wasn't surprised to find nearly no-one out on foot. Disappointed, but not surprised.

There was a cranky-looking old man tottering along near him, but he gave Sam such a disgusted grouchy look that the Winchester stepped back from him as he passed, just for good measure. No need to have crabby guys after him too, when he didn't even know what was going on already. When the woman sitting on the bench down a bit further – clearly waiting for someone if her expectant looks at the approaching cars were any indicator – shot him a slightly freaked out, appalled grimace as well, Sam stopped trying to approach civilians for directions and headed over to the nearest closed store window to check his reflection.

When he saw the filthy, shabby-looking man staring back at him, Sam really couldn't blame them for not wanting to come near him. With his hair all mussed up with dirt, clothes slightly damp from the grass, feet socked and relatively dirty… well, in short, he looked like a lost homeless tramp.

And wasn't that just freaking _brilliant_, 'cause everyone was just dying to talk to some grubby down-and-out stranger – sure, why not?

And, jeez, if that thought had any more sarcasm it might just have exploded.

Sam sighed again and stuck his hands in his pockets, turning away from the glass petulantly. He gazed down the street and wondered how long he'd been gone. When he'd walked out, it had been early morning – or late night, depending on how you looked at it – but that could have been a few hours ago or days. And it wasn't like he kept track of the date half the time they were on the road – there was just no use for that – so finding out the answer to _that_ by checking a copy of the daily paper was out of the question too.

Maybe walking out on his brother completely unarmed (and he didn't think the small flick-knife in his pocket was all too useful here, either) wasn't such a smart idea. But Dean was being _annoying_, and _yes _he knew that that's what brothers are for, but if he had to listen one more time to his ramblings about the strange fetishes his brother had witnessed in his life, or whatever it was Dean was on about while Sam tried to busy himself doing something useful, then he would've exploded. Or something equally drastic. And the last time he'd tried to get his brother to shut up they'd delved into a pointless argument that escalated and _both _of them were too stubborn to give up his end so by that point they would be sitting in the Impala in silence until one of them came to his senses. Or they just got bored of arguing over nothing and called a truce.

It was just what they did, had done so since they were kids and it was habit. But Sam had so _not _been in the mood for one of those episodes and he'd woken up with the telltale signs of a headache trying to sneak up on him unawares, as they were prone to do when he least expected them. _So_, he'd gotten out of the motel room for a walk. A bit of time to get some fresh air and stretch his legs, and meanwhile, give Dean some time himself to vent out his own boredom however he wanted. As long as it had nothing to do with Sam's laptop freezing on a page that he really would rather _not _be seeing.

Sam shook himself out of those scarring – and downright unhelpful – thoughts. He was a hunter; he had training for this sort of stuff. But then, was there a handbook for being roofied, kidnapped, relieved of his shoes, and left somewhere in America?

Possibly not in that order.

Before Sam could get past the sarcastic commentary that just came naturally to him, there was suddenly a scruffy looking, middle-aged man with a missing-tooth smirk that Sam felt just sang "I know something you don't" uncomfortably close in Sam's personal space.

"Hey, kid," the guy said to a wary Sam. "Lost, much?"

Sam's obvious first instinct, raised to be suspicious as he was, came as that the guy was some loon, since he obviously had not realized that Sam's over six foot frame was _not_ kid-like. Then again, maybe it had something to do with his bangs...

Eyeing the man, unimpressed, Sam didn't answer and made to move around him. But an outstretched palm with surprising strength held him back.

"Whoa, hold on," the guy said calmly, still smiling.

"Honestly, mister," Sam bit out, "I'm fine."

_I'm so not fine._

But Sam had been well-trained. He could so take this guy.

The man was not deterred. "Listen, kid, I think I could help-"

Sam stopped and turned slightly, fixing the man with a glare he usually reserved for an extra fugly supernatural on particularly bad days.

"_I don't care_, alright?" Sam forced out. "I'm not an idiot, and I don't want whatever drugs you're selling."

_Christ, these people suck at body language._

The man's urgent motions stopped, and annoyance darkened his features. Glaring right back at the kid in front of him, the stranger said in exasperation, "You know, forget it, I'll leave you alone, _Sam." _And with that, he started to stride away.

Caught by surprise at the man's words, Sam froze in confusion for a second as the guy distanced himself. When they processed, however, Sam immediately began following after the man.

And if the sound of his name wasn't enough, Sam could certainly spot the shoes – durable enough for their life but _normal _enough for the man to allow himself to be seen in public with – that he'd been wearing when he left the motel whatever amount of time ago. And they were _on the guy's feet_.

"_Hey!" _he shouted, unable to help himself. They were his _shoes_, dammit, who did something like that? Sam hurried faster to catch up to the man, trying his hardest to become as inconspicuous as he could considering his lack of footwear.

_You're doing awesome on your own, Sam. Chase away the only guy who might actually help, why don't you?_

Ignoring the internal monologue, Sam started to jog, 'cause he was noticing how now it was the _man _who was trying to get away from _Sam_. Freakin' karma. At least there weren't as many people out on the streets this early in the morning.

"Hey!" Sam called again, reaching out a hand to try and stop the guy. "How do you know who I am?" he demanded.

He was finally able to snag the sleeve of the guy's less than appealing jacket, forcing him to turn around. For all his brother's teasing about being a Sasquatch, his height and strength did come in handy for Sam more than often.

The man jerked his arm free of Sam's grip, scowling. But he did look the Winchester in front of him up and down before saying, "Kid, you've got the manners of a pig – I don't really feel like wasting more time with you."

"Well, I don't make it a point to chat up every random stranger that I meet in the street," Sam snapped back before he could stop himself. But he was tired and, he realized then, really hungry, and just a little freaked out. But he also figured that it would be a complete pansy move if he acknowledged the fact that he wished Dean was there.

The man looked like he was about retort something back, but then he paused, considering Sam in front of him. Then, surprisingly, he rolled his eyes and just smirked. "Guess I'll let you slide."

Sam bit back the sarcastic '_Gee, thanks" _that immediately came to his lips, instead asking, "Really, how do you know who I am?" Then he paused, adding as a thought struck him, "Do you know how I got here – wherever?"

The man raised an eyebrow, reminding Sam suddenly and a little painfully of Dean's trademark look. "No," he said bluntly.

"Well," Sam started again, willing himself not to get pissed off with this most likely homeless lunatic. Who for some reason knew who he was. Because hey, he was kind of desperate for answers. "Then how do you know my name?" he countered.

The man shrugged, and suddenly Sam realized why his father had found that gesture so infuriating. "Dunno, musta heard it somewhere," he said wryly.

Sam struggled not to openly gape at him. "Then why the hell am I talking to you?" he couldn't help but ask incredulously. This guy didn't know jack-squat.

The stranger rolled his eyes again. "Don't mean I don't know _some _things."

"Look," Sam said, certainly not pleading but not exactly picking a fight. Though the tone had been coming out of his mouth instinctively more and more often lately. "If you're not going to be _any _help, I'll just leave."

Chancing that the guy's desire to talk to him was strong enough, Sam turned around and was once again going to walk away.

Snickering from behind him made Sam pause. "Alright, kid, you got me." Sam saw the man grin. "Can't help myself with your slug-like charm."

Sam wasn't sure he liked the way _that _sounded. The hell did this guy want him with him anyway?

As if reading his thoughts, the man said next, "I'll tell you everything I know," he started, and added in before Sam could say anything, "Which would be real helpful to you. But you gotta do something for me after."

Sam was no idiot. "What?" he asked immediately.

The man just smirked that annoying look of his. "Take it or leave it."

Still staring at the less than well-dressed man distastefully, Sam weighed his options.

He could just flip the guy the bird or such, and proceed to work himself out of the issue on his own. The way Winchesters were supposed to, and the way his father had taught him. But if that weren't reason enough for the ever rebellious college kid _not _to take that option, there was also the fact that he had no freakin' idea what he was going to do. This would be about the time Dean would spew out some smartass remarks, among which would be the somewhat-suicidal but near ingenious plan that would get them out of any situation.

But Sam wasn't exactly Dean Winchester. As if he needed any more evidence.

So, he could have a reluctant trust with this guy, and get some info off of him. If he knew Sam's name, then he most likely knew some other important pieces to the puzzle too. And it wasn't like they were going to be close confidants or anything. Just...benefit each other. Whatever he wanted Sam to do, it wasn't as though he'd made a blood promise or anything. He could always back out.

By this point, Sam had successfully told himself all he needed to talk his brain into proceeding with the plan that would've had Dean kicking his ass into next week.

"Fine," Sam said, sounding reluctant. Because he was – it wasn't like the guy was all that appealing to be working with.

"But," Sam said next, a little indignantly, "can I at least have my shoes back?"

The man shot him a mysterious grin and wagged a finger in his face. "All in good time, Sammy."

"It's _Sam_," he growled back, resisting the urge to snap the finger then strangle the guy. After all, he _was _the one with the answers… and his _shoes_.

"'Course it is," he nodded amiably, resuming his speedy pace and turning a corner down a shoddy alley.

Sam cursed and followed him, mindful of the broken glass littering the ground. This just kept getting better and better. "Where the hell are we going?"

He didn't even get a reply this time, just an infuriating amused little chuckle.

Oh, Sam was going to have fun getting him back for this, for sure…

"You know, Sammy," the guy started conversationally, snagging Sam's elbow as he turned another corner and headed deeper into the alleyways shrouded in darkness. "You're sending off awfully violent vibes, for such a nice guy."

Sam clenched his jaw and wrenched his arm away. "I wonder why that is," he gritted out. He swept narrowed eyes around the narrow lane when they stopped, noting that barely ten feet ahead was a dead end. This couldn't be good.

"Well, it's not very nice of you," he was told, lightly.

'_I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings_?' The barb was on the tip of Sam's tongue, but the darkly amused glint in the man's eyes stopped him. He was being taunted, and a sarcastic slip probably wasn't something he could afford at the moment. So he calmed himself down, told the smartass side of his mind, which had a suspicious Dean tone to it, to shut up. Crossing his arms across his chest, he asked, "Alright, what do you want from me?"

Apparently, he'd said something hilarious because the man laughed long and hard at that. Sam couldn't see what was so funny, but this certainly wasn't helping him refuse to give in to the urge to beat some answers out of the guy.

He was just starting to muse how he'd barely been back on the road with Dean for a year, and his brother had already rubbed off on him so much – when the chuckles died down and he got an answer. More or less, anyway.

"Want from you?" the guy repeated, an almost gleeful grin emerging on his face. The fact that it was almost predatory raised Sam's defenses, made him tense up. "Kid, I don't _want _anything from you."

"Then why the _hell_ are you-"

"Uh-uh, language, Sammy-boy," he tsked, shaking his head at him in mock-disappointment.

Sam clenched his hands into fists and breathed in deeply through his nose, repeating the mantra _don't-kill-him_ in his head.

The man smirked, clearly enjoying his frustration. He stuck his hands in his pockets, glanced around the alley in apparent casual thought, before throwing out a deal of sorts. "Okay. How about this: You be nice and polite to me, and… I'll give you your shoes back."

_Don't kill him don't kill him don't kill him_…

"My _shoes_?" Sam repeated incredulously – more for show than anything else, but the older guy didn't have to know that. "I want some _answers_, not freaking _shoes_." He tried to ignore the almost indignant deadened tingle his toes sent him. Because, yes, it was cold, and yes, his feet were so _numb _with cold he probably wouldn't have felt it if the guy stepped on them right now, but he was _not _conceding defeat for _shoes_. He wasn't even going to _consider _it. No way. Even if it would be nice to get them back and being _polite _wasn't such a high price to pay for them…

"No?" The man – and Sam realized he really needed a name – sounded regretful, sighing deeply as he tilted his head to the side. "Okay then, tough guy… we'll have it your way."

"And…?" Sam narrowed his eyes dangerously, shifting his hand slightly so that he could pull out his flick-knife in an instant if he needed it. And all instincts were screaming that he would.

"And... We're going on a short trip," he continued, a slow lethal smile creeping onto his lips. If the man had little sharp teeth, he would've been a human shark. Out for blood. The thought did nothing to alleviate Sam's gut feeling – _thisisbadbadbad_.

His eyes flicked around again before he backed up a step, noting that _his _back wasn't to the dead end – the man's was. He wasn't going to make a break for it, though – not now, anyway. Not when the guy had answers and hadn't actually _threatened _him yet. Even if that grin said otherwise. "Right," he drawled conversationally, watching the other man's easy stance. "That's nice of you and all, but see – there's this whole 'don't go off with strangers' thing…"

"Oh, I wasn't offering." And in hardly a heartbeat, he'd moved in front of Sam and grabbed his forearm.

And Sam sunk back into oblivion with a barely-formed thought of – _You can kill him now._

* * *

**A/N:** *whizzes in* Heyy, 'tis Izzy aka **agent iz hyper **co-author of the _goddamn bloody brilliant _fic you just read the start of and I am proud to say that this beautiful baby only gets _better_. *nods* *pats fic* Okay, I'll stop bragging while I'm ahead. Just. Working on this fic with **Dodo **was like the best thing ever xD Epic randomness ensuing from a start with no plot and/or direction whatsoever which resulted in us just winging it... bringing you this piece of work right here *flourishes hands* ...is that... is that right? Flourishes... flourishes hands, does that make sense? *blinks* Anyway! I have a mental note at the forefront of my mind pestering me about _not rambling on this _so this is where I stop. But before I go - make sure you tell us what you thought, ay? Don't you wanna know what happens next? xP

*slides up next skillfully* Annnd this is **Dodo**, sending out a ditto to what Iz said because guys! We finished it! It's gonna be an awesome ride and we hope you'll grab on x) I'll make sure Iz doesn't hit you with her 'flourishing hands' *nods* But as credit goes, this was originally her brainchild, and then she managed to rope me into the awesomeness and it just grew and grew and...this xD

*clears throat* And to a _very _important present announcement *fanfare* **Remy McKwakker**! :D Her birthday was this past week and she is definitely on mine and Izzy's list of totally awesome people, and deserves a totally awesome present! Plus she, like every other sane person, was sulking about yet _another _hiatus so hey, this can hold us all over! x) Happy Birthday, Rem :)

We (attempt to) promise the rest of the author's notes won't be this long, and the chapters are all written and of varying lengths so updates will actually be _on time_! That being said, reviews help ;)

~iz + dodo


	2. Will to Survive

**Don't Lose Your Grip**

**II. Will to Survive**

There weren't too many things in the world that could piss Dean Winchester off. There were even less things that could make him worried.

What topped the list for both, however, was summed up pretty nicely in two words – _Sam Winchester_. ('Little brother' worked too.)

"_Hey, this is Sam. Leave a message._"

"Sonuva_bitch_."

That as well. On occasion.

Multiple phone calls that all went straight to voicemail were rapidly creeping up there to join 'missing little brothers' on the list of stuff that made him want to strangle something.

Staying calm and collected? Yeah, that had pretty much flown out the window after – oh, maybe when his brother had been _missing _all night with _no sign _at all. Something like that would tend to get to him.

Dean re-pocketed his phone and cast an impatient look at his watch. _8:24_, it read. In the morning. When Sam had stomped out of the room last night, Dean had assumed he was going to just sit outside to chill for a bit, maybe go for a short walk, but he hadn't expected him to still be _gone _hours after that. Hell, he hadn't waited _one _hour before calling him, but it went straight to voicemail. So did the next fifty or so calls.

Which wasn't reassuring one bit, considering Sam had been practically unarmed. And, yeah, the guy was trained and could take care of himself, but Dean could name at least ten things off the top of his head that could have gotten his brother who was defenseless against them.

_He's twenty-three, dude._

Dean tried to convince himself that this fact was significant, he really did. But old habits die hard, and it was barely two seconds of trying to calm down before Dean hit the speed-dial again.

It was a surprise the button wasn't broken already.

And this was _exactly _what had happened every other time Sam had completely blown up. He'd run away, to freakin' _Flagstaff _(seriously, what the hell was in Flagstaff?), and then _college_, leaving Dean behind to face the wrath of a furious and worried John Winchester both times. Number one on the list of things that had Dean scared – well, _uncomfortable._

Sam was going to be pretty uncomfortable when Dean got his hands on him if the man didn't answer his goddamn phone.

The dial tone didn't last a millisecond before Dean snapped the phone shut and hurled it at the wall with a snarled "_Dammit!"_

"Okay," Dean said after a breath – more like several breaths – to the empty room. "_Fine_. I'll go get his sorry ass myself."

_And then I'm gonna kick it into next week._

...Sucked that then he'd have to go get the friggin' kid from _there_, too. Pain in the ass little brothers...

With that train of thought spurring Dean on, he grabbed his old leather jacket and headed out to the Impala, figuring a short drive around town couldn't hurt.

Only problem was...his car wasn't there.

His _freakin' car _was not in the parking spot. Dean was staring, eyes wide and trying not to flip out, at a massive, rusty monster truck with raised wheels. And it was _in his baby's spot._

"Aw, no," Dean groaned, and though it was irrational, took a quick look under the massive truck's body. Unsurprisingly, no Impala.

"_Shit," _was his next growl. Because if Sam took his car Dean was going to _kill _him. Slowly and painfully. He'd _hot-wired _the Impala. The man definitely wouldn't have been in his right mind if he'd messed with Dean's car like that.

Dean was still gaping at the spot, struggling to find reason in this act of blasphemy Sam had committed. He had _stolen _the _Impala -_

Dean's repeated internal tirade was cut short by a loud, obnoxious voice shouting, "Hey, princess! The hell do you think you're looking at?"

Hard footsteps walked towards Dean and as he turned to face the owner a large hand none-too-gently shoved his shoulder. "What're you lookin' at?" the man repeated, glaring at Dean, and putting two and two together the Winchester realized this was the truck's owner.

"What I'm looking at," he growled back, stepping up and knowing he was intimidating even if the other guy had more bulk, "is this crap piece of metal that sitting in myparking spot."

The other man's eyes narrowed. He was beefy, fitting the description Dean would've pinned on anyone owning the monster truck. He was dressed in black, ripped shirt and jeans with boots and a bandana. Tattoos peeked out from places and he looked like the kind of guy normal people would be running from.

Dean Winchester was not just a _normal _person. And there were certain things that could get him fired up fast and looking more dangerous than any other guy. People messing with his car was one of those things.

"This ain't your spot," the man spat. "I got better things to do than steal whatever shit you're driving."

Dean bristled and was sure he saw red for a second, and it took all his self-control not to deck the guy. The fact that he was his only lead to finding his baby, and in turn, his brother. So he gritted his teeth and forced a calm voice.

"There was a car _in this spot_. Did you see someone take it?"

The man snorted and crossed his arms. "So what if I did?"

Forcing back a growl, Dean closed his eyes briefly, trying to calm himself down. "It was a Chevy Impala," he bit out. "Black, '67. Did you see it pull out?

The beefy man raised his eyebrows. "Impala, huh? _'67?_" he repeated in surprise, and sounded less hostile. Apparently he _did _appreciate a good car when he heard one. The guy grunted, seeming to mull over giving Dean information. If he decided against talking though, the elder Winchester didn't think he could be held responsible for his next actions.

Thankfully, the guy just shrugged before revealing, "Yeah, it was pullin' out of this place when I got in. Driving sorta half-assed, too."

Dean felt his anger at his brother grow. _So dead, Sammy. So. Dead._

"Thanks, man," Dean said. "The driver was brown-haired, right? Looked kinda like a Sasquatch, young, could be a college preppy?"

The truck-driver snorted again, this time in disbelief. "Are you kidding? It was pretty dark, but coulda been a homeless dude behind the wheel."

Dean's stomach plummeted and he swore his vision went a little blurry as his head swayed. His _car...baby...aw, no._

"You...you sure?" Dean asked, feeling a sickening need to hyperventilate or flip out or _something._

The guy nodded. "Yep." He jerked his head in a direction down the road. "He was heading that-a-way."

"Right." Dean swallowed. "Hey, thanks again," he forced out, already planning the painful torture and death of whoever the hell stole his car.

The truck-driver gave him a knowing look. "Good luck," he grunted, watching Dean walk away with purpose.

Pity the dumbass who thought to mess with him.

**x-x-x-x**

Sam came to awareness quite suddenly, thanks to an increasingly familiar throbbing in his head. He suppressed a groan.

_Not again_.

He lay there for a few more moments, silently deliberating his current situation. Considering what he'd woken up to _last _time, it was a no-brainer that Sam wasn't exactly all too willing to find out what that... that _guy _had done to him now.

At least this time he had a clear memory of what had happened prior to his black-out.

He frowned as the wind picked up around him - _still outside then _- and tickled his feet through thin socks.

_And still shoeless._

Sighing, Sam cracked open his eyes, only to squint them shut again against the glare of the bright blue sky. Blue _clear s_ky. Wait a minute...

His eyes snapped open then, suspicious. It had been _cloudy _the last time he was awake, and no way the weather could have cleared that fast.

...Or maybe not so 'fast'. He didn't exactly have any idea how long he'd been out. Could've been a few hours, or, or a whole _day_, or-

Sam shoved aside the unhelpful thoughts that were slowly spiraling into something warily close to _panic a_nd gingerly got to his feet. His _bare f_eet, he thought somewhat miserably. And yes, he was fully entitled to sulk a bit over that. It's not like Dean was there to say anything about it, and that was the point, wasn't it? If Dean was there, Sam wouldn't even _be _in this predicament to begin with. Not that he couldn't hold his own but his brother had made good on the fact that his top priority was to protect Sam and he'd never failed on that front. So, yeah, it was true that had he been with Dean the whole time, things would've turned out differently.

On the other hand... Sam was pretty dubious that the older Winchester wouldn't just take this whole feat as a chance for a medley of jokes. Because, let's face it; waking up lost, shoeless, cold, and with both a sore head and a dead phone didn't exactly scream 'life-or-death situation'. Not in _their _lives anyway.

Sam rolled his eyes and took a proper look around - and did a double-take. Instead of a vacant park this time, he found himself in... a...

He blinked.

Corn field?

What the...

Sam blinked again, then pinched himself. Disappointingly, nothing happened. _A corn field?!_

"_What _the _hell_," he muttered, staring at the impossibly long green-and-yellow plants surrounding him.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't _so _unbelievable - they had been on their way to Bobby's in South Dakota, and if Sam guessed right, he was probably somewhere in Iowa. Which wasn't too far off, but still. Last thing he knew, he'd been in a _town_. The back alley of one, to be more precise. With a dude who had his shoes and seemed to enjoy messing with him.

And had some sort of teleportation powers?

...It was making his head spin.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and blew out a deep breath. At least he was _on _a path, rather than being dumped right in the middle of the plants. That would've been uncomfortable. To say the least.

After a moment of musing, he shrugged and started down the path. Might as well take stock of his surroundings... which... consisted of corn. And more corn. And... wow, even _more_ corn, who woulda guessed? He trudged on, vaguely hoping to stumble upon a road that ran past the field. Or something. That didn't consist of corn.

Five minutes of aimlessly following the path and Sam came to the not-so-pleasant conclusion that not only was he in a corn _field_... but he was stuck in a freakin' _corn maze_. Talk about the icing on top of the cake. The very bitter icing on top of a crappy mess of a cake. Sam wondered how he seemed to always get stuck in these situations. It was like that time in Idaho when he was thirteen and Dad had sent him and Dean on a 'tracking exercise' through that nightmare of a forest... he'd ended up stumbling around for an _hour _thanks to a couple of wrong turns. Totally not fun.

At least it was relatively quiet out here, he mused, moving forward a few steps to brush a hand against the corn stalks. Not even unnervingly so - there was just nothing except the quiet chirping of some birds in the distance, the smooth swaying sound of plants in the wind, the low growling off to the side...

_Wait, what?_

Sam turned around quickly, doing a quick sweep of his surroundings. Growling? Corn fields didn't growl. And even though his head hurt, he _wasn't _concussed. Or being paranoid, because now that he was aware of it, he was s_ure _there was something watching him.

Stray dog, maybe?

Something white flashed through behind the plants in front of him. White and goddamn _big_.

Yeah... His luck wasn't quite _that _good.

Sam backed up a step, cautious, and inwardly cursing the lack of weapons on him at the moment. All the same, he slipped a hand into his pocket and curled it around his knife. Better than nothing.

His eyes trailed over the now-clear stalks before him as he did a full 360 - and held back a yell at the sudden growl from behind him.

Sam spun on the spot, falling into a defensive fighting pose... and froze. Eyes wide, fists still held stiff in front of him, and face comically shocked.

The thing before him sat back on its haunches and snorted softly, eyeing him.

After a few moments of his best goldfish imitation, the Winchester's hands slowly dropped to his sides and he subconsciously took a step back.

It tilted its head, still watching him.

His voice seemed to have fled at the initial sight of it so when he tried to say something, nothing came out. What exactly he'd say, though, he had no idea. His mind was - for once - pretty damn blank.

Because, _really_?

He was in a _corn maze_, and what does he encounter...

It snarled again, then snuffled and got to all four feet. Sam may possibly probably _maybe _let out a sound suspiciously close to a whimper. Of course, it _wasn't_, and there was no-one around to prove otherwise.

Besides, Sam had more important things to worry about at the moment than a slight at his masculinity.

Things like _a freaking __**tiger.**_

"Why isn't this a dream?" Sam mumbled to himself. He experimentally took another step back before stopping, alarmed, when the white feline imitated him. Forwards.

A _snow _tiger, too. Because, y'know, it was perfectly normal to come across one in the _corn fields of Iowa_.

It _really _didn't help matters that the tiger was staring at him like it was trying to decide his level of edibility.

Sam chuckled nervously and help up his hands placatingly. The path was open behind him, but he still felt trapped. "Easy, boy... I'm not gunna hurt you..." And if he wasn't in a state of mixed shock and disbelief, Sam would've facepalmed at the words coming out of his mouth. As it was though, he just kept on rambling in the hopes that it wouldn't notice him slowly backing away. And if he was talking to the thing as if it was a dog then, well, it wasn't like the _tiger _understood his words and _he _was hardly going to care what he was saying - as long as it _stayed back_.

If no one saw it, it didn't happen, after all.

He was five steps back when the tiger seemed to lose patience. It emitted a low growl from the back of its throat and started advancing steadily. Its eyes were fixed on Sam. A pink tongue darted out briefly and then it bared its teeth - its sharp, sharp, canine teeth.

Sam gulped.

The tiger paused...

And pounced.

And so Sam found himself dashing wildly through the maze of corn stalks with a snow tiger growling and nipping at his heels.

_Forget monsters, I'm __**screwed**__._

* * *

**A/N:** We are back, back again! *grins* With reasonably timed updates and everything man, this is nice. The schedule is Tuesdays and Fridays for the next several chapters, and _we __are_ so excited. Thank you all so much for the reviews - imagine both iz and I refreshing and grinning madly x)

~dodo + iz.


	3. Face to Face, Out in the Heat

**Don't Lose Your Grip**

**III. Face to Face, Out in the Heat**

Dean narrowed his eyes at the sight in front of him, feeling confusion and outright anger warring within him.

There was his car, looking innocent and no worse for wear on the outside at least, the only thing different being it was now parked in front of an abandoned barn that stood in front of a massive cornfield, with no humans in sight.

Why the hell would Sam – or whoever was driving if he went by the truck guy's description – want to go to a _cornfield_? Was the guy some redneck farmer?

Dean had given his baby a thorough check-up and seen absolutely nothing out of the ordinary – barring the whole _'parked by a cornfield' _part – and didn't that just serve to make him more suspicious. He glanced back at the dilapidated and creaky warehouse that looked like it would fall over with a gust of wind, then to the wide expanse of _corn_.

The only time he'd seen so much of one crop, and if he was honest it was a little unsettling. A little too still, a little too innocent-looking. The calm before the storm, a soft wind making the stalks wave back and forth like some demented corn synchronized dance.

Definitely an unsettling place.

Dean glanced around, seeing nothing but the border of the town in the distance, a few miles from the motel they'd been staying at. On the other side was just the road, stretching on into the distance. And smack dab in the middle of the two were the Impala and field.

So where the hell was the kid? In the _cornfield_? Finding him would take forever, Dean groused to himself.

And then, coming to him seemingly from a distance but carried by the wind, Dean heard a sound that he would swear on Sam's life was an animal roar.

Dean tensed automatically, hand reaching for his gun as his ears pricked, his first thought being to suspect the supernatural – because like hell there was a lion or something in that field. He stood for a few more seconds, but there was no other sound. Then in the utter silence, suddenly lacking in both breeze and the sound of the road, Dean's strained and honed hearing picked up crunching and rustling, as though someone or something was fleeing through the cornfield.

Dean's eyebrows raised to his hairline, both pure hunter instinct and the protectiveness he had for Sam telling him that his brother was no doubt in trouble somewhere in front of him. And if he was continuing this theory...it was from a pussy cat. A large one, he consented, remembering the roar.

"What the _hell_..." Dean just muttered to himself, still paused on the edge of the field. He battled with himself for a few seconds, glanced back at his car – which didn't give him any advice, then rolled his eyes.

Shaking his head, Dean entered the mass of corn stalks, gun in hand and swearing to anyone who was listening that someone was going to pay for this.

**x-x-x-x**

Sam thought he'd read somewhere that tigers could run three times as fast as the average human being.

As the thought flitted through his mind, it was followed by the disbelief that he wasn't dead yet, even with his constant hunter training.. The animal should have at least had him pinned to the ground and possibly even headless by now. But all Sam was experiencing was a close-to-blind terror and one-track goal of _get the hell away from the fucking tiger._

He could feel the long corn stalks whipping his face and arms, but he barely felt the sting. The dirt beneath his feet was a mix of solid and loose, and through pure instinct in the face of certain death Sam was able to get through the struggle of keeping his footing.

Here and there Sam tried to maneuver the stalks that he was pushing away so that they smacked into the tiger inches behind him, but that plan was discarded the second he realized the tiger's _razor sharp teeth _cut through the stalks before they slowed the animal down.

The tiger nipped at his heels, he _felt _the hot breath on his ankles, and he most definitely did not let out a high-pitched sound at the brief scratching of teeth on his legs.

Zig-zag, zig-zag, he remembered. Don't run in a straight line-

_You can't keep running forever!_

Sam almost tripped and fell in his shock, and had it not been for survival instinct rising above all else he probably would have. The words had echoed _in his head_.

He put more distance between himself and the tiger, and suddenly thought back to the man in alley. There was definitely something supernatural about him, and now Sam was experiencing firsthand what the guy could do. A warlock seemed like a reasonable explanation, and if it was Sam had no idea how he was going to fight the thing with nothing more than a knife and a shit-ton of corn.

Sam Winchester was being chased by a tiger in a cornfield and he was still doing research. He would've given anything to have Dean call him a geek right then.

The thought of his brother lifted Sam's spirits somewhat, but it backfired tremendously when he tried to take another sharp turn and ended up getting tangled in the root of a corn stalk he'd just upturned.

Sam swore his life flashed before him and he toppled to the ground, all near-seven feet of him landing with a thump and his hands going up automatically to provide little protection for when the tiger ripped him limb from limb...

Loud panting blew disgusting smelling breath onto him and a moment later wet, slobbery liquid coated his arms and face. Sam grunted, trying to breathe at the enthusiastic, _nonfatal_ treatment.

Shocked, Sam blinked open his eyes through the drool and took in the wide face and curiously tilted head of the tiger above him.

He was alive. Being used as a drool towel, but _alive_.

From somewhere to his right in the corn stalks, Sam heard cackling.

"Guess you met Diego, eh?"

* * *

**A/N: **I'm pretty sure the first thought I had this morning was "Le gasp update day!" xP *grins* So, this chapter is short, because dammit splitting things is harder than it sounds, but the next one's only a few days away. Iz and I mighta posted the entire story if there wasn't some inherent force of self-control that we seem to lack in every other aspect of life. Like eating Nutella. Nutella is delicious. ...I'm hungry.

Crap, the no rambling rule was supposed to work. Uhm. Thanks loads for y'all that review, and for all you people that _we can see favoriting and following_, well thanks for reading...drop us a line...please...*puppy dog eyes and sad image of Sammeh without a shoe*

Laters,  
~iz and dodo


	4. Risin' up to the Challenge

**Don't Lose Your Grip**

**IV. Risin' up to the Challenge**

Dean hadn't been able to take more than a dozen steps before he growled, "Screw this," and pulled out his knife to hack at the long stalks of corn that were surrounding him. He figured that whoever owned this land could just suck it up and take it as a hint that this corn fetish was not healthy.

Dean continued to listen for any other indication of Sam or big cats as he macheted his way in a random direction. There was no sound, and Dean had started to think that he was going to get lost in this stupid cornfield and with his luck starve to death because he had no clue how to get the actual corn out of their weirdass stalks-

Dean froze.

A voice, a really familiar voice, sounded some ways to Dean's right and he made out the words with a little start.

"_Aw crap not you again!"_

Beelining for the cluster of crops that he heard Sammy's voice behind, Dean slashed down the corn stalks like they had personally affronted him and moved forward with momentum. So when he abruptly reached a small clearing instead of more corn he stumbled a little.

And when he took in the sight before him he had to do a double-take.

In front of him stood Sam, and Dean didn't fight off the feeling of immense relief that his brother was okay. Absently, he noticed that the younger man had no shoes on, but his attention was quickly directed towards the _massive freaking white tiger _looming over his brother, mouth open and tongue hanging out as though the animal wanted to chew up the kid. And off to the side, subject to an extreme Sam Winchester bitchface, was a guy who looked like he'd a little too much to smoke and not enough baths.

A tiger, a sasquatch, and a druggie meet up in a cornfield.

Shit, it sounded like a beginning to a bad joke.

_A super corny joke._

Dean let out a sound that was a confused sort of laugh, and all three heads turned towards him.

"What...the hell?" Dean finally managed, and Sam stared at his brother for a moment before silently thanking the high heavens that he didn't have to go through this strange as hell nightmare alone any more.

No one said anything for a moment, the strange man looking like he was just enjoying the brothers' confusion for a few minutes before he finally started his monologue.

"Both of them here now, well ain't this just a _party_!"

"What do you want?" Sam growled, and Dean was a little surprised at how his brother sounded so long-suffering, like he'd already dealt with this guy enough to last him a life-time.

"Just a little fun is all he wants," the stranger answered, and his voice sounded high-pitched, and a little mischievous, as he crowed his plans. Dean didn't notice any difference, but Sam was suspiciously aware of how the man – warlock, if he was right – suddenly sounded a lot different than the dark-side-Yoda he'd thought he was dealing with. More like a child at play, and wasn't that just great, he got a psycho instead. "You two amuse Zippy."

Definitely a psycho.

"Zippy?" Dean butted in incredulously.

The man nodded confidently. "Zippy Scrotiscus, at your service." He gestured towards the tiger, which during their conversation had sat down and was trying to sniff at Sam, much to the latter's discomfort, though he tried not to panic. "And our friend is Diego."

"Scrotiscus," Dean repeated, a little dazedly. _Is this for real?_

"So what shall we all do now?" the man – _Zippy? - _mused.

"Well," Sam said, pretending to think about it for a second. "My brother and I are leaving so _screw you_."

Zippy wasn't fazed. "Don't you want your shoes back?"

Sam huffed, his bangs fluttering with the force of his frustration, and Dean muttered, "Yeah, about that...?"

"But you two haven't gotten to know Zippy!" the man continued. He turned to Dean. "And this one hasn't said hello to Diego."

The man whistled sharply and the tiger's ears perked up and the animal stood, suddenly seeming many times larger and more threatening despite the fact that its tail was practically wagging as it awaited its master's order.

Zippy gestured towards Dean. "Play," he said simply, and Dean's eyes widened.

The tiger bounded forward like a way oversized dog and Dean had to refrain from sticking his knife into the thing, instead standing rigid as the animal sniffed around him and growled low.

"Quit flirting with me," Dean managed to joke, even though he thought he might have lost the ability to move at the moment. _Don't like animals nope fucking slobber and furballs-_

The tiger – Diego – butted its head against Dean's chest. There was a thick leather collar around its neck, and Dean reached for it hesitantly, awkwardly petting the fur there.

Meanwhile, Zippy had turned his attention to Sam, eying the younger brother approvingly.

"So," he said conversationally. "Zippy asks how your day's been going?"

"Just friggin' _awesome_," Sam snapped.

"Pretty exciting though, eh?" the man who may or may not be an extremely cheeky warlock (but was definitely bipolar) snickered. "Tricks and jokes, Zippy likes."

Sam, who had been about to launch further into how much this was so not funny and how sorry Zippy was going to be, paused at the words, frowning.

_Tricks...fun...huh._

He'd been sticking to his theory that the man was a warlock, but now he wasn't so sure. There was another option, after all, and Sam really hoped he was right because if so, they might actually be able to get out of this mess.

"You're an imp," Sam said, now sounding a little curious rather than all parts pissed off.

Zippy grinned a wide toothy smile. "That he is, Zippy the imp, devilishly tricky with his trusty sidekick Diego. Don't you like games, Sam Winchester?"

_Not this one, _Sam thought to himself, but aloud he said, "Only if I get to play."

Before Zippy could respond, Sam had pulled out his only weapon and aimed it at the man.

"Catch!" Sam said and the knife sliced through the air before imbedding itself into the imp's leg.

The creature howled, his face turning an ugly green as the silver cut its skin. He cursed at Sam and as he attempted to grasp the hilt through the tattered layers of clothing he swore some more.

"Dean!" Sam called, and Dean flicked his eyes towards his brother for a moment before resuming his intent watch on the tiger, which had contended itself with lying a few inches away from Dean. Close enough so that the hunter was not comfortable moving in any direction or managing to pay close attention to anything else. There was no way this thing was as innocent as it looked.

Sam rolled his eyes, quickly assessing the creature he had correctly – and it was damn well good that he was right – decided was an imp and made sure the thing was still preoccupied with cursing and getting the knife out of its leg to be paying attention to the brothers at the moment.

Moving so that he was next to Dean Sam said lowly, "Dude, get the collar and burn it."

Dean jerked a little to look at Sam, finally tearing his eyes away from the tiger – _Diego. _"What? Why?"

The imp had freed itself by now and was zeroing on Sam, cackling a little.

"_Just do it_," Sam ordered, and turned to stall the creature.

Dean stared at the tiger. The animal lifted its head and stared right back at Dean, its eyes wide and Dean swore the thing was mocking him.

He took a deep breath, putting the arm holding the knife down to his side and out of sight, crouching a little as he took slow steps towards the tiger.

"Good boy, right?" Dean said, seriously doubting what he was about to do but seeing no other option than to trust Sam's geeky brain.

Dean really wasn't sure how he did it.

In a moment of spontaneity, he grabbed one of the fallen corn stalks he'd hacked off and tossed it at the animal.

Diego pawed the crop curiously, suddenly oblivious to the plight of his master or of the hunter with a determined look in his eye slowly inching towards him. His only goal at that moment was to tear apart the corn stalk.

Dean moved his knife quickly to cut through the collar. Diego growled suddenly when it came off, wary and torn between continuing to maul the corn or figure out what this strange man wanted with his beauty piece.

The older hunter backed away quickly, turning towards where Sam was seconds away from being attacked by an extremely pissed off supernatural-man-druggie (Dean still wasn't sure exactly who this dude was).

Dean whistled sharply, much like the man had done early. "Hey! Fuglies!"

Both Sam and the man turned towards him, the former with a slightly disgruntled but more hopeful face and the other startled.

Dean held up his lighter to the piece of leather, smirking at the man – or supernatural whatever – and allowing it to catch flame.

Sam breathed out in relief and Dean said smugly, "Sayonara, sucker."

* * *

**A/N**: Yay Dean! *fist bumps him* Good luck with your plan and all, guys. *evil authors rubbing hands together*

Oh, and also *narrows eyes*

Well then.

No reviews...is good too...sure *pouts* What gives guys. And next chapter's the last and all so, like, *waves hands* give us the love? Or any feedback or spazzing about that last episode – _and Dean and Castiel and zomg Sam_ – or anything *gestures towards that _so totally convenient box_* Go for it! 0:)

We have Nutella.  
~dodo and iz.


	5. Got the Glory

**Don't Lose Your Grip**

**V. Got the Glory**

This was so not happening.

After lighting the leather collar on fire, the brothers took a moment to watch in satisfaction as the creature let loose a horrid high-pitched squeal kind of sound before erupting into bright colorful ashes. At least, Dean assumed they were ashes, because that's what the collar had been reduced to – minus the colorful shininess.

One moment, that's what they got. _One moment_ to appreciate the fact that the Universe didn't completely hate them and that this was the last they'd ever see of Zippy Scrotiscus.

After that…

Dean started with a curse as something white and fluffy and _impossibly small_ barreled into his legs. Stumbling back a few steps to regain his footing (with _very minimal_ flailing of arms, he might add), he chanced a glance down and found his jaw dropping with it.

"Is that…" Sam started, far too curiously and not befuddled enough for his brother's taste.

"_Mew_," the tiny kitten meowed.

Dean sneezed. His thought process seemed to pause. He blinked. It was still there, staring up at him with a tilt of its fluffy head and wide blue eyes working on bending him to its will. He blinked again, then turned slowly to Sam, who was watching with pure amusement.

"That was a tiger," Dean said carefully, trying to make sense of _what the fuck just happened_.

Sam nodded, now looking like he'd love to drop to the floor and laugh his guts out.

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "That was a big freaky as shit _huge tiger_."

"It was," Sam agreed. His voice was wavering.

"_Meowww_," the tiny bundle of fur added, padding up to rub its head against Dean's leg.

He stared at it, shifted back a little and tried to swallow another sneeze, then turned his stare to his brother, who let go a snicker. "Alright," he finally said. "I give." He lost the battle and sneezed again. "What the _hell_, dude?"

Sam grinned at him, completely and utterly ignoring the glare he got in return, which was unfair because there had to be some sort of unwritten rule somewhere that said something about not being _allowed_ to brush off a big bro's glaring.

"The cat was his familiar," Sam told him, coming closer to crouch down and _pet _the animal that was not ten minutes ago chasing him down amidst the corn plants.

Dean nodded. He waited for more. Nothing happened except that the kitten found the sasquatch a whole lot more fun than the unmoving jeans-clad leg it had been pawing at. Dean let go the breath he'd been holding. Said-sasquatch grinned at it and proceeded to rub its head.

Huffing impatiently, Dean nudged his brother with his boot. When Sam looked up with a raised eyebrow, he said pointedly, "_Care to elaborate,_ oh wise one?"

"Oh, right. Uh, he was an imp, and they tend to have familiars – kinda like pets which carry a certain capacity of their power – but there's always an object binding the imp to its familiar. In this case, his collar," Sam explained, scratching behind the cat's ears as it – well, _he_, 'Diego' – leaned against his jacket.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I _know_ that." Sam shot him a quizzing look which he reciprocated with a flat one. "I meant that cat- _tiger_, whatever it is, genius."

God. And they called _Sam_ the brains of the pair.

Sam looked back at the tiger-turned-kitten with a look of dawning comprehension. "_Oh_, that."

"_Yes_, that," Dean agreed, tone sarcastic. He wandered over to where the imp had exploded as Sam rattled off info.

"Well, imps don't generally start off with a familiar, they have to find one and claim it. Of course, being mischievous creatures, they tend to pick small animals – like this little guy – and then when they bond it, it pretty much transforms into whatever animal the imp wants so long as it's within the same familial species."

"Handy," Dean muttered. He crouched to examine the shiny leftovers of the imp, then let out a laugh when he noticed the only object left behind.

"Dude," he smirked, picking up the now-glittering pair of runners and facing his brother. "Want your sneakers back now?"

"Oh yeah, _finally_-" Sam turned and, upon catching sight of the offending shoes, did a double-take (while sitting down, too. It was quite impressive). "_My shoes_," he groaned, face set in a look of horror as Dean tossed them at him while laughing. The white feline pawed at them curiously before retreating to the safety of Sam's jacket.

"I don't know," Dean mused as Sam's expression took on that of a pained puppy. "I think they suit you."

"Shut up," he muttered pitifully. Diego-the-kitten pawed at him and purred when Sam automatically rubbed his head.

"All that trouble," Sam went on, looking torn between dismay and outrage. "_I just wanted my shoes back_."

Dean narrowed his eyes in concern. "…What?"

Sam looked at him then poked the obscenely glittery sneakers. "If he hadn't taken these I wouldn't have gone with him and then he wouldn't have done that teleporting thing and I wouldn't have gotten stuck in a _corn field_ with a _tiger_… _All_ of that, because the son of a bitch _took my shoes_ when he knocked me out the first time," he ranted, sounding heavily offended.

It was quite a tirade.

Dean blinked. "Dude. You got knocked out _more than once_ by a midget _imp_ who called himself _Zippy Scrotiscus_?"

Sam glared at him. "That wasn't the point!" He shot the shoes another pained look. Diego mewed at him softly and rubbed his head against Sam's arm in some form of comfort. Sam rubbed his head affectionately. Dean eyed them, wary.

"And before you get any ideas – we are _not_ keeping the cat," he said firmly. He wasn't letting that thing get anywhere near his baby's upholstery and filling it with _fur_.

Sam looked up at him and frowned reproachfully.

Dean raised an eyebrow, unflinching.

Diego joined in the stare-down, fixing the elder brother with impossibly wide blue eyes and an imploring soft _'mew'_.

Dean scowled. "_No._" His nose got twitchy just at the _thought_ of being in closed quarters with the furball.

Sam sighed, patting the kitten as he insisted, "We can't leave him here, Dean, there's nowhere to go."

"I'm not driving with a cat in my car!" Dean said, shooting said-cat a wary look when it made a whimper-y noise and curled around his brother some more.

Sam huffed. "_I'll_ drive, then!"

Dean's next protest was met solidly by two pairs of innocent beseeching sad eyes.

He stood his ground, staring them down with a fixed unwavering glare. Dean Winchester was a badass. He was not going to be cowed by puppy eyes. Or kitty eyes. Or any form of… of…

"Fuck it."

…And that was how Dean ended up pressed against the passenger seat in his car, far _far_ away from the furball latched onto his brother, window down, and glowering darkly out at the world.

(Except when that glowering was broken by the sneezes. And, okay, maybe the whole effect was somewhat ruined by the sniffling. And the absolutely-_not_-a-pout that had taken up residence on his face. Besides those, he practically radiated angry vibes. Not petulant. Angry, Irritated. Definitely.)

"Hold on." Dean dropped the act for a moment to turn an incredulous stare towards his brother. "Did you say you _went with him_? As in, _willingly_?"

Sam blinked. "…Yes?" He shifted in his seat at Dean's flat look.

"Some random guy steals my baby, knocks you out, takes your shoes, and you just-"

"He stole the Impala?"

Dean scowled. "Yeah, freakin' hotwired her and then left her next to some park."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I think he might have hit me with the car," Sam mused, absently rubbing his head.

Dean gaped. "_Now_ you mention it?" he demanded. He automatically scanned his little brother for any signs of injury, but other than being pretty filthy he looked fine.

"I didn't know!" Sam said, slightly indignant. "I just woke up in a park with a killer headache after I'd left the motel last night."

"I'm gonna kill that bastard," his older brother seethed, years of protective instincts rising immediately. "I'll burn him to _ashes_-"

An amused smirk lifted Sam's lips. "You kinda already did, Dean."

"…I'll burn his ashes, then."

The smirk dropped in favor of a frown. "Not with my shoes."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine, _Tinkerbell_, I'll leave your sparkly shoes alone."

"You're too kind."

"As soon as you get rid of the cat."

"Dean!"

"_Meow_."

He sneezed and glared. "_Sam_."

"…Fine." Sam scratched behind Diego's ears. The kitten purred. "Sorry, little guy," he said sympathetically.

Dean sniffed and turned back to the fresh air from his window not inundated with cat fur.

"And your voicemail message sucks, by the way."

* * *

**A/N: ***confetti canons and booms and 'splosions and studio laughter in the background because of that twist*  
Can still not get over the fact that _Dean is so not an animal person it's hilarious._

*clears throat* Yo! Dodo's got the necessary crap: Firsteth, because we _know _you all are wondering, Zippy Scrotiscus was named none other than Misha Collins himself. As if watching him and Jensen interact isn't hilarious enough, in one interview Jensen held up a sorta fugly doll thing and told Misha to name it and cue the infamous "Zippy Jackles Scrotiscus." And it was law.

Dos, the chapter titles and underlying theme of this story are of the song "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor, which was _**so beautifully **_air-guitared and lip synced too by Jensen Ackles and to this day remains one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. Supernatural fans, in the words of izzy, go watch it or bury yourself in the hole of blasphemy.

Thrice, Remy – have fun as you don't suffer through school for the next week and the half and hope you have a great experience and *confetti* happy going-away!

But review first! :) We totes didn't anticipate this being over so fast *sulks and pouts like I've been doing this whole day* Man. This fic was our pride and joy guys *nods* Literally firsthand proof that the infamous dodo and iz pair could have some fan-fucking-tastic productivity. *fist bump*

Annnd **izzy** to take it home: *stares* It's done. It's, like, actually _done_ what now omg. This has been goddamn MONTHS in the making, seriously. *pokes it fondly* All those random bursts of hyperness channeled into these beyond kickass and hilarious chapters and... and... it's over. *deflates*

BUT! *grins* That means we got to show it off to the world and sit back basking in all your _awesome_ reviews - seriously guys, **thank you so much**. :D And **Remy** - well I know you loved it xP Hope this was a good enough b'day prez and stuff and - heyy happy going-away, bro! :D You lucky thing. :P Have loadsa fun, yeah?

So... *blinks* I, uh, was s'posed to spaz and generally just flail all over the place because _it's finished whaaaaatt _...but I'll save you from all that. *nods* Kudos to all who've read and _especially_ took the time to review *coughcough* (*narrows eyes at the hundreds who didn't... we have story stats, ya know. I'm judgin' you. *judges* ...jk. no judging.) No, but, really. Last chapter of this kickass baby, you'd legit make my day (or, y'know, the rest of the school term cuz omg exams hahlp) and we will reward you with fluffeh white kitties and puppies and Sammy and _everything you would ever want_. :D You're all awesome. And I hope the ending satisfied with that plot twist. :P Well. Duh. 'Course it did, 'tis ze combined awesomeness of iz & dodo after all. *buffs nails* ...*pauses* too much? Okay. Well. Dodo said everything important anyway and I'm kinda just rambling for _no reason at all_ so here is where I leave y'all to, y'know, go on in with your life (*nudge* after reviewing?) and all that.

Cheers~  
It's been real B)  
~iz + dodo.


End file.
